


Nobody Dies From a Scar

by Kolokan



Category: Carrie - All Media Types, Carrie - Stephen King
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Child Abuse, Chris Is a Child In This, Depressing, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Past Child Abuse, Sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2019-11-06 06:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17934188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kolokan/pseuds/Kolokan
Summary: And that's the way things are.





	1. A Mother's Love

Young Chris fiddled with her Barbie doll, admiring its sand-coated hair. She wished she could have naturally blonde hair. “Daddy, I want her hair!” she said with a mischievous, childish smirk spread to her plump cheeks. Her father did not react, glued to his spot on the living room couch.

Chris frowned, noticing this. “I miss Mommy,” she sadly mumbled. “She’d always play dolls with me.” However, this did receive a reaction from her father. He shot up from the couch and marched towards his daughter. 

“Your whore mother ain’t here, Chris. I don’t wanna see that cunt here ever again,” he spat viciously in Chris’s face. Her lips wobbling with sadness, she nodded compliantly. “ _Don’t_ mention her ‘gain,” her father commanded her with his pointer finger raised.

“Them’s mean words,” Chris murmured longingly in reverence for her mother.

“What?!” her dad said as he turned back around to her with a scowl, face squeezed tight with rage. His cheeks were red, his nose red too -- and Chris couldn’t help but imagine that his eyes were too.

Shrilly, she whined, “Them’s mean words, Daddy! Mean words!” Her eyes were filled with tears, and her throat was coarse and choked with them. She trembled in the face of her enraged parent. 

“A little mean words won’t do no harm to you, sweetie. Your Mama may tell you that but it ain’t true,” he hissed to her, his jaw tight with fury. 

“O-Okay,” Chris stammered brokenly. “But Mama loved me. I know she's missin' me like I'm missin' her,” she swore, hands on her heart.

“NO! SHE AIN’T!” her dad boomed maliciously, slapping Chris in his blind anger. The raw strength of the hit swung her to the ground, where she miserably laid and absorbed the painful stinging at her injured cheek. _Mommy would never do that to me,_ she mentally assured herself. “Chrissie, ‘m sorry. Baby…” Her father cooed fakely, rubbing her burning cheek with forced tenderness.

“I’ll never do that again,” he lied solemnly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a story. Villains are not cardboard cutouts to serve as our intellectual punching bags. Nor can they be the targets, or rather, scapegoats for our socio-political commentary. Anyway, this is made to complement the last verse in "The World According to Chris" wherein Chris speaks softly and sadly, as though these ideas were unfairly implanted in her.


	2. That Day

“Guess where we’re going?” Chris’ father said with a fake enthusiasm, grinning at his reclining daughter after springing into her much-too-quiet room. She leaned stilly against her bed frame and did not show any sign of reaction. “Fuckin’ say something,” he spat, doing a tonal one-eighty. His temper was that short with a little girl. 

“The lighthouse,” Chris guessed distrustingly, lethargic, unimpressed, and tired. 

“Chris, don’t be so damn rude, you could at least be a bit excited ‘bout it!”

“I am excited!” she said convincingly, doing her own change of tone. This was her treat and his silencing tactic; a visit to the lighthouse.

“Good! And if you act like that the whole time I’ll buy ya somethin’ nice,” he insured. But she didn’t need to hear that. Yet it did excite her, it did invoke a covetous kind of flutter in her chest. That didn’t mean it took away the pain and anxiety. It just covered it up with another feeling. 

She knew her father only said they’d go to the lighthouse because it was nearby. They’d probably have a picnic, go to the gift shop, and leaving slightly after noon. It was ten in the morning at the moment she began to get ready. She wore a simple outfit -- an empty white t-shirt, surprisingly unstained, a pink jacket, and blue jeans. They felt weird on her, like little girl clothes and not Chris clothes. Her mind did not have the articulation to express that it didn’t fit her fashion sense.

“All ready to go, Dad,” Chris said, stepping out of her room and gently closing the door without looking behind herself. Closing the door carefully was something she practiced for good reason -- to keep it quiet, and also to be able to look behind herself whilst opening doors. Needless to say she never felt very safe.

“Finally,” he moaned to his daughter as though he were her age, stumbling to the front door and opening it with a swing. Promptly, Chris followed after, hair covering eyes as she looked at the ground meekly, avoiding any excessive eye contact. Not only with her father, but with her neighbor Mrs. Greene whom her father was angry to see her ever talking to. “Nice day out,” her father boringly droned as she entered the back of the car. The passenger’s seat felt wrong for her to be in, and thankfully it was never questioned why she sat in the back.

Laying her head against the car window, Chris wished the car trip to be longer than it was. Three miles was just too fast for her taste. Something about staring out a window and watching the world blur out of and into sight was so entrancing. “When we get there, you can head straight to them tables. I’m gonna talk to Lisa,” her father instructed to her silent dismay. _I knew he wa’n’t goin’ to the lighthouse for me,_ thought the young Hargensen darkly.

“‘Kay,” she uttered reluctantly, knowing her submission was necessary for survival. It was all she knew, all she could think to do. Therefore it was her only option. But a child, but a girl, but a daughter to a father who should know best.

Eventually, they reached the parking lot, wherein Chris immediately unbuckled her seatbelt and eagerly waited to slip out the car and look over at the ocean. The beautiful ocean… even from this angle from the window of a car swerving by, it was breathtaking. Even if today was rather chilly and early to be visiting it. Out of the car, Chris split from her father and walked towards the edge of a rocky cliff outside the lighthouse overlooking the scenic waters. 

To her left, she could her faint mumbling and harsh whispering in a higher tone. “You will cleanse me of my sin, for I am but of mortal flesh. My desires are my sins, Lord, and they haven't ceased. May you loathe me when I do not abstain from rectification. Forgive me. Forgive me. Keep me away from the steel gates of Hell.”

Another voice, harsher and higher, screeched, “But Lord, you may still hate our sins. We will remove ourselves as far as we can, but we are attached to the parasite, the secular symbiont. In such a faith-taxing time, give us your guidance and holy light. Amen.”

Listening to all of this confusedly, Chris nosily turned her head to the praying duo to her left. The spoken word was no more than gibberish to her. She lacked the vocabulary and prowess to interpret most of it. All she knew was something about the whole thing made her more sad. Kneeling on the cliff was a terrifyingly still-faced girl. Her eyes were glassy enough to be marbles. Her hair was stiff and dry, her skin pale. Something about her was so ghostly and bizarre. That’s when the marbled eyes of soullessness pierced Chris deeply. Instinctively, Chris jerked her head away and gasped quietly from the tension.

“We must be going now, Carrietta,” a voice that could only be the mother’s reactively said, like it was the presence of another child that triggered it.

“Yes, Mother.”

They walked away so smoothly and lifelessly Chris swore they didn’t exist at all, and that she dreamt them up. Now she sat in the grass and tugged at it, troubled. She thought really hard for a moment. About prayers, God, and parents. A question roused itself from her subconscious. _Will I go to Hell for making Dad mad?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is okay aghhhhh


	3. Friends, the Best

“So, am I still coming over?” Chris Hargensen sweetly asked Susan Snell, drawing over a picture of Cinderella in a childrens’ coloring book. She had scribbled over Cinderella’s hair in violet, allowing it to messily taint the beautiful lineart.

“You bet,” Sue replied, coloring Alice from Alice in Wonderland. Alice’s apron was splotched with red crayon, disgustingly so. “But I’ll have to ask my parents, okay?”

“Fine,” Chris agreed with a rude pout. Now she drew so hard the crayon broke. She whined about it, embarrassed and angry. 

“Come on now, Chris. It’s just a crayon,” the teacher sighed, walking up with a hand on her hip.

Later that day, Chris was walking with Sue to the pick-up spot. “I can’t wait to play with you,” Chris squeaked, feeling the only excitement she did all day. She did feel a bit when they colored, but she was still holding her tongue for this moment.

When Sue’s father pulled into the parking lot, he rolled down his window. “Chris?” he seemed to question uncomfortably, seeing her beside his daughter. “You weren’t trying to come home with Sue, were you?” he asked cautiously.

“I was, Mr. Hargensen,” Chris answered, growing worried with the way he had spoken to her.

“I don’t know if you can tonight,” he broke with a sad smile, trying to let her down gently.

At that exact moment, thunder started to roll loudly. “What?”

“We are having investors come over. We were actually hoping to ask how your Dad would feel if we dropped you and Sue off there!”

“...” 

Sue gasped excitedly, contrasting her friend. “I can’t believe it! That sounds so fun. Sue, I’ll finally see your room!”

“Hey, honey! We have to ask her Dad. Do you think he’ll say yes, Chris?”

_I hope so. I hope he doesn’t get angry,_ Chris thought as her heart beat and she felt turmoil rising from the scenario unfolding. “Y-Yes. He probably will,” she strang them along aloud, trying to sound normal about it. Nothing was normal about it, she’d begun to understand. Things were… declining in terms of positivity within her house. Since her father hit her, things have only worsened. She wouldn’t let Sue see that. She couldn’t.

“Great. Get in girls,” Sue’s father chipperly ordered. So they both climbed inside the back of the car, setting their backpacks on their laps and getting cozy. 

The drive to Chris’ house felt like it lasted forever. So when Chris and Sue arrived, Chris stumbled out like she’d been sitting a long time. Yet it was only ten minutes worth of driving. Ten unbearably long minutes. “Okay, I’ll go ask Dad.”

Sue waited outside with her father. They stood there outside, near the lawn, patiently awaiting an answer. Although they both admittedly expected a positive one. When Chris walked inside her doorway, she took a pleading look over her shoulder at Sue and her father. She was terrified. She wanted to ask for help. She wanted to say something was wrong and that she was scared. She didn’t. Inside she went. Looking around, she immediately noticed a mess of beer cans cluttered by the couch. And two white socks resting on the end. He’d drunkenly passed out when she was at school. Waking him up was unironically equivalent to poking a bear. 

So Chris did not poke the bear. Waiting for twenty seconds, she breathed carefully and quietly. Then she softly waddled the beer can pile out of sight. Running out of her house, she reacquainted with the gray skies and the staring family members. “He said it’s all right! Come inside, Sue!” she called, lacking a typical optimism in her voice. Like she wasn’t even all that excited about hanging out anymore. Usually it was the only thing that she looked forward to each morning.

“See you, Daddy,” Sue said before hugging him. Then she went into Chris’ house and immediately cringed at the overwhelming scent of alcohol. “Ew,” she mumbled, pinching her nose shut.

“Shh!” desparately hissed Chris. “Upstairs!” she quietly but fiecely commanded, pointing to the staircase. On those stairs Sue felt a tinge of curiosity as to why everything was the way it was. The house was dim. Smelly. Expensive, but dim and smelly. Chris’ dad didn’t even say anything when she walked in…

“Let’s play a game, Sue,” Chris said, interrupting her chain of thought. “It’s called ‘whisper tickle’. If you say anything that isn’t in a whisper, the other person gets to tickle you!” Chris weirdly suggested, attempting to come up with something on the spot.

“That sounds stupid, Chris,” Sue childishly but honestly put.

“...”

“What’s wrong? We can play it if you really want!”

“No, it’s not that. Don’t worry, I’m okay,” Chris lied with a heart-breakingly convincing smile. When they reached her room, she stopped Sue from closing the door. “Sorry! It uh… breaks if you close it fast!” she excused, suddenly closing it really slowly and softly. It made minimal noise. “Be careful on my bed, it’s super wonky!”

“But that bed looks really nice!” Sue disputed, very bewildered by all the claims about the furniture and infrastructure.

“Please, Sue, listen to me,” Chris said, almost whining with how her voice croaked.

Considering her friend’s anxiety, Sue nodded. None of it was that big of a deal anyway. “So, did I tell you that Tommy returned my note today?” Sue began, softly perching onto the edge of the bed.

Jealousy flared within Chris, but she did not exude that fact. “Sweet. I didn’t know that,” Chris weakly said, trying to hold back her tears as she stood by the door to her bedroom. She was listening for footsteps. She just had to make it until it was late enough her dad would go out. He went out every night, without fail, at 12:00 am.

“Chris, are you all right?”

“What? What… yeah of course I’m all right,” she replied, shifting nervously around. But she was not all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I will really continue this unless someone can message me to give me ideas. Here's my email: kolokan404@gmail.com. If I can't message anyone then I know I won't add more. I'm looking at you, Ava! Hahaha...


End file.
